No Shirt Sherlock
by HorizonCold
Summary: Trowa gets himself into a bind when he steals an item from his crush's house.


**I don't usually write 3x4 for personal preferences, but this situation didn't really work for any of the other 3x or x3 pairings. (Yes, I have to have my Trowa). It's rather hard to stop those thought bunnies from reproducing once they start going...and it is a bit concerning when they develop minds of their own, forcing you to write fluff when you don't excel in writing fluff…distracting you from another Gundam Wing story you're supposed to be writing…oh well…**

**Is it pointless? Yes, yes it is. Do I own the pointlessness? Yes, yes I do. Do I own the characters? No, no I don't. Does that suck for me? Yes, yes it does. **

**Day Zero**

"Can I use your shower, Quatre? I would wait until I get home, but I'm filthy." Not that Trowa needed to say anything to point out that fact. A few hours earlier, as they trekked down a mountainside to a jeep heading home, Trowa had caught Duo as the latter slipped backwards on a steep bank. Duo had been saved perhaps from a concussion, but Trowa hadn't been saved from muddying up his backside.

"Sure! My sister stayed over while we were gone to feed Roxo, so there should be plenty of supplies."

Squashing the slight urge to ask which sister—knowing that such an inquiry could unleash a river of complaints and familial anecdotes from the blond—Trowa nodded before heading to the bathroom. He took his trusty duffle bag with him, similarly soiled with dirt and pine sap. Rifling through for the last clean shirt and pants he had left, cleaned in a stream swollen with melted snow, Trowa shed his current clothes and stepped under the showerhead for the first time in a week.

Duo swore the next time they all went on vacation together, it would involve indoor plumbing.

Smiling faintly as he remembered the braided man's loud protests as his thousandth marshmallow fell off his stick uneaten into the flames below, Trowa squirted an ample amount of Quatre's apple-scented shampoo into his palm. He could have honestly waited until he reached his own shower, but he'd use any excuse to incorporate himself into the Winner heir's personal space. Lathering the red gel into his hair, he wished the wealthy ex-pilot would return the sentiment. Or any of his romantic feelings, really.

Trowa rinsed off quickly, trying to shake off the image of a certain handsome golden-haired, lightly-muscled ex-pilot out of his mind. _Millionaires don't date clowns. Heroes don't love soldiers-for-hire._ Doing his best not to drip water all over the pristine marble-tile floor, he opened the cabinet close by that held the towels. Two stacks of fluffy towels lay waiting for use, white ones on the top and navy on the bottom. Taught to keep dark cloths on hand—blood shows up too much on white—Trowa automatically pulled out a navy towel.

As the towel fell out of its fold while in Trowa's hand, a small bundle fell onto the blue tiles beneath the cabinet. Picking it up and holding it in front of him, he frowned as he discovered it to be a large t-shirt. Wondering why a shirt would be stuck in such a place, he began to put it back after tying his towel around his waist. But before he slid it completely in, he gave into temptation and inhaled the worn out cloth.

He was unprepared for the overpowering scent of Quatre Winner that was woven into the fibers of the shirt, spiraling from his nostrils into his brain directly down into his loins. Several times before he had strived to catch a whiff of that scent, leaning over Quatre as he played the piano, sitting a little too close to him in the car..._I wonder if he'd notice if I just…_

He hastily stuffed the shirt in a side pocket of his duffle, glancing around the locked room as he did so. Rushing through drying and dressing, he returned to Quatre's living room in record time. As he passed a bay window, the Arabian's resident Doberman howled at his figure, having carried a deep hatred for the cat-loving man ever since he was adopted.

"Shush, Roxo!" Rising up from the couch where he had been dozing, Quatre smiled up at Trowa, making the taller man's heart catch in his throat. "Sorry about him. I really don't know why he only gets anxious around you."

"No problem. Everyone else head out?"

"Yes. Probably for some well-deserved sleep. Nothing quite like a day's walk down a mountain to wear you out! Don't you think so?"

"Yes. You did better roughing it out there than I expected."

"Um…thanks."

_Smooth, Barton. Go ahead, insult his pride. Jack-ass your way into his heart. _They stood in awkward silence for a while before Trowa coughed, forcing his heart back down in his chest were it belonged. "I should head back to my apartment as well."

"Will you come here for lunch tomorrow at eleven?" Wide aqua eyes, shining up at him with hope, made it impossible for Trowa to say no. Not that he'd want to.

"Of course."

"Great! Duo wanted to go through all the pictures we took to create an album. Isn't that a good idea?"

"Oh." _They're coming too. _"Sounds like it. See you tomorrow then." As he went outside to his truck waiting in the expansive driveway, Trowa took out his frustrated disappointment by snarling at the chained dog in the backyard. He was gratified when the leash pulled the monster viciously back down to the earth when it tried to jump the fence.

At home, Trowa went straight to his bedroom and peeled off his pants, curling up in his twin bed. He scooted into the sliver of moonlight lent to his sheets by his window. Reaching down to where he left his duffle bag beside the bed, he pulled out Quatre's shirt, feeling slightly guilty as he held it up in the whitish light. He hadn't meant to steal the article of clothing, not really, but it was hardly something he could see Quatre wearing often. The cloth was a faded grey color with small holes around the seams of the short sleeves, about two sizes too big for the Arabian and two feet too long. As he squinted, Trowa could faintly make out the remains of an illegible logo scrawled across the front. Never before had he seen Quatre wear a shirt so informal. Plus, it was misplaced between the towels, so how important could it be?

He cradled the shirt to his chest with one arm, bundling up a fistful to hold just below his lips. Inhaling deeply, he caught again the scent which so easily and masterfully assaulted every corner of his mind, deceiving the rest of his senses. As he repeatedly took in the fragrance of Quatre, he could almost believe it was the young man lying against him with pale skin as soft of the material of the shirt. He could almost hear the whisper of Quatre's breaths as they left perfect lips to grace the darkened air of the room.

Closing his eyes, Trowa realized his fantasy bordered on the pathetic. He also realized holding the shirt would be the closest he'd get to holding the one he loved. And young mercenaries were raised to have no shame.

**The next morning**

"Hey, Tro!" Duo waved from the back of Heero's motorcycle where they had just parked in the driveway, quickly followed by Wufei in his dirt bike. "We're nothing if not punctual, right buddy?"

Heero snorted, removing his helmet. "Trained by the clock."

"Least if we're late nowadays, nothing blows up." Duo grinned before he gave Trowa a look-over with shrewd blue-and-violet eyes. "Did you get laid last night? You look like the cat that just got…another cat."

Laughing, Trowa stretched his arms up in the air with a shrug. "No, but I had the best night of sleep I've ever had. Nothing but sweet dreams." Ignoring the strange glances he was accumulating, he smiled at his friends. "Let's go find Quatre."

They found him half-buried underneath his bed, his head and torso swallowed by the black abyss, his rear and legs stuck out in the middle of the room. Rather adorably, in Trowa's opinion.

Duo tapped the wiggling bum with his boot, earning an eep and a thump from under the king-sized bed. "What are you looking for, Quat?"

"Ouch." Quatre pushed himself out, sitting on the floor while rubbing at his head. Trowa couldn't resist running his fingers through the tousled sun-kissed hair, pretending to pick out various dust bunnies. "Mmm. Good morning, Trowa!"

Duo rolled his eyes. "We're here too, you know. What were you looking for?"

"My favorite nightshirt! I've looked everywhere in this house and I can't find it anywhere!"

Heero went over to the hamper, methodically going through the contents to find the lost item. "Your grey one, correct?"

"Yes. I wear it all the time."

Duo slung a comforting arm around the heir's shoulders. "Don't worry, Quat! We'll help you!"

Wufei nodded in agreement. "The quicker we can find it, the quicker we can leave. Assuming that we can't go until it's found."

"It's important to me, Wufei. My dad wore it in his college years."

Trowa felt the blood drain from his face. _Oh shit. No way. Quatre always wears those fancy silk pajamas when we stay over. And even when we were camping, he just took off his belt and vest to sleep in his day clothes. How can he wear an old t-shirt? He's not an old t-shirt person! If it's his dad's, why didn't he just frame it? _"Why haven't I ever seen this shirt before?"

A faint blush spread across Quatre's cheeks as he stood up. "Well, it's not very flattering."

Trowa frowned, confused and feeling the onset of a headache pound against his temples. "How is that important?"

Sounding suspiciously like he was smothering his laughter under his words, Duo interrupted their conversation. "When was the last time you saw it?"

"I put it in the towel cabinet so it'd be there when we got back late from the trip, but when I searched for it last night, it wasn't there."

"Did one of the maids misplace it?"

Quatre sent a glare Heero's way, being the only person alive who would dare to do such a risky act. "I do my own laundry, thank-you very much." He sighed, ripping back his bed sheets to check in-between them. "I'm not crazy. I know I put it in there. Where in the world could it go?"

Swallowing hard, Trowa pulled his frantic friend back by the shoulder, pretending to calmly search the sheets for him. "Did you sister say anything about seeing it during her trip?"

"She said it was still in the bathroom when she left."

"Maybe your damned dog ate it."

"He would never!" Quatre huffed, placing his hands defiantly on his hips, usually shining eyes narrowing in resentment. "Just because you don't like him doesn't mean he's a bad dog! He loves everyone but you!"

Duo tugged on Quatre's vest as the accused man glared down at expensive silk sheets. "Trowa was just kidding, you know. Let's eat so you can chill for a minute, then we can comb over the house for it, 'kay?"

Quatre let his hands slide from his waist with a sigh. "Thank-you. I'm sorry for losing my temper, Trowa. I know this all sounds ridiculous over a simple shirt."

"Don't worry, Quat. We're here for you."

**A Few Fretful Days Later**

Trowa paced around his apartment, working off tension with his rapid pace.

On one hand—the one he used to shoot with and to relieve sexual build-up—he had been sleeping deeper and more peacefully each passing night. Instead of nightmares of battlefields, fallen soldiers, and explosions, he had constantly dreamed of Quatre's presence beside him, talking to him, loving him. He had stopped curling up with the shirt and had started sleeping in it, somehow feeling like he was wrapped up in Quatre's arms.

In short, he was addicted to the stupid piece of clothing.

But Quatre was not giving up his search, despite the hours of fruitlessly ransacking his house or the near weak that had ticked on by. If he ever found out the truth, which would be easy considering he had three ex-gundam pilots searching for answers with him, Trowa would never be able to live it down. _Why did I steal your shirt, you ask? Only because I'm crazy about you and like to fantasize about you before I sleep, while I sleep, and after I wake up. Don't concern yourself, it's only a minor homosexual obsession with the way you smell kinda like spearmint and apples and a good fuck. _

He had to put the shirt back.

**Late Night When Normal People Are Sleeping**

Trowa stood underneath the window of Quatre's bathroom, located on the second story of his home. Dressed in all black with the shirt stuffed in a small backpack, he crouched low in the thankfully thornless rosebushes, keeping his eyes trained on the window. Quatre slept only a few feet away from the bathroom and was an uneasy sleeper. Trowa knew from experience that Quatre would wake at several points in the night for glasses of water, walks outside, or a bleary-eyed walk to the toilet. He had chosen this specific night because he knew Quatre had experienced a strenuous day at his office, surely leaving him exhausted.

Assuming all was still in the large house, Trowa risked a glance at his watch, letting the numbers glow in the darkness with a press of a button. Four a.m. That gave him enough time to crawl up to the bathroom, leave the shirt wadded up in the cabinet's corner, climb back down, jog back home, and sleep for a while before everyone was due at his apartment for breakfast before work. He wished he could have taken his truck, but he didn't want to chance the automobile being recognized riding through town. Or dying on him. He needed a new truck.

Using a rose-quartz statue of a flamingo for leverage, Trowa expertly jumped onto the siding of the house, latching onto the small grooves and climbing upwards. Reaching the window, he tried to undo the latch from the outside before remembering Quatre had it painted shut for extra insured privacy. Cursing the blonde's conservativeness, he scooted over to an open window leading into the hallway, avoiding the laser sensor and dropping onto the thick beige carpet with a hopefully muffled thud.

Looking both ways down the hall, he crept back over to the bathroom, silent on his feet. He froze when Quatre's door swung open slowly, his fear turning into confusion when he didn't see the other man's silhouette in the doorway. He blamed it on the air conditioning kicking on and turned away.

Two seconds later, he heard a low growl that made his blood run cold. Whispering softly so as to not wake up the sleeping beauty in the room beyond, Trowa tried to calm the guard dog standing behind him. "Good Roxo. Yes, you're a good boy, aren't you? I'm just going to leave this here and go home. Shhhhh…good bloodthirsty Doberman…."

Lifting his leg to walk forward, Trowa felt more than heard the snap of jaws which accompanied the deep bark from the enraged canine. Jerking against the wall, he also felt the fabric of his black jeans rip at the seat, torn away from him by sharp and long animal teeth. Jumping up in the corner of the ceiling and the wall, to top it all off, he then heard the click of Quatre's clip slide into his gun. Spurred on by a new fear, he dropped down next to the dog, grabbed the patch of jeans when Roxo dropped it to snap at him again, and dashed out the window for his life.

It was only after he had run back his apartment at break-need speeds that he realized his boxers had a hole in them too. He snuggled into to the shirt, pouting his way into slumber for the two hours he had left to sleep.

**The Morning After The Late Night When Normal People Are Sleeping**

"Hey, Quat, have you found your dad's old shirt yet?"

"No, but for some reason, I did find some green material Roxo attacked last night. My sister must have left it when she was sewing. I hope it's not important."

Trowa opened his refrigerator and laid his head on the shelf. He wondered if there was a way he could freeze himself to death in there.

**The End**

Sitting on top of his washing machine, Trowa held the shirt in his hands, swinging his feet so they hit the metal with dull bangs. "Look at how much trouble you've gotten me into. You're nearly as much trouble as my adoration for your owner."

The day before, he had tried to casually walk into Quatre's front door and leave the shirt, acting like he was supposed to be there on his lunch break with Preventers while the Winner heir was at the office. Unfortunately, Quatre left the office early to shower before an important meeting with a client. Although Trowa got a delicious peek of Quatre showering, he had to fake Rashid's voice to get himself out of the bathroom and racing back to headquarters with the shirt in tow.

So he had come to the worst solution his traitor brain could create—to hand it back to Quatre in person. Lying to how he came across it, naturally, but facing Quatre's wrath and intuition all the same. Just a mere ninety minutes earlier, he had done what he thought impossible and had washed the shirt. All Trowa could smell on it now was his bland laundry detergent.

Jumping off the machine, he kissed the shirt before reverently folding it up and placing it in an empty grocery bag. "I'll say good-bye to you today." He sighed, taking the bag in his hands. "And to my love for Quatre tomorrow." Telling himself this had to be the end of his crush, he dreaded going to the said crush's home that afternoon. _He'll never care for me the way I care for him. I have to move on, for the both of us. If he found out, he'd be mortified. He'd never be comfortable around me again. _

Driving as slowly as he possibly could without incurring the anger of his fellow drivers, he arrived much later than he should have. Walking through the house without locating his friends, he finally found them sitting outside near the swimming pool. He swallowed the nervousness in his throat, twisting the plastic handles of the bag between his fingers. "Hey, guys."

Quatre immediately jumped up, a wide smile suddenly brightening up his face. "Trowa! You made it! We were about to call you." He wrapped his arms around the taller man, crushing the bag between them. "Don't worry, I locked the dog up in the guest bedroom. Oh, what's that?"

"That's a…That's a funny story, actually. Turns out, I did my laundry today for the clothes I wore on our vacation…two weeks ago…and, well…Stop poking the bag, Duo!"

Duo held up his hands in mock defeat, snickering under his breath. "Don't be so jumpy! You're acting like you've got a bomb in there. Was one of Roxo's chew toys in your duffle?"

"No, this was." Trowa pulled out the now-wrinkled grey t-shirt, not looking Quatre in the eyes. "I must have accidentally pulled it out when I got a shower in your bathroom. I use dark towels out of practice and the ones at the top were all white, so it must have fallen when I jumbled them up and got mixed in with my dirty clothes. Is that…okay?"

"It's fantastic!" Quatre arched on his tiptoes to quickly kiss Trowa on the cheek, taking his shirt gleefully. "Thank-you so much for returning it! I've missed being able to sleep in something comfortable!" He held the shirt close to his chest before showing it to everyone as proof of its return.

Rubbing his cheek as the rest of their small group laughed over Quatre's enthusiasm, Trowa mumbled, "You're welcome. I'm going to get something to drink inside." He retreated back into the house he so recently tried to break into, relaxing against the wall next to the stove. Staying there a few minutes to lick his wounds, he wasn't surprised when the door opened, announcing he had company.

Heero leaned against the wall next to Trowa, mockingly imitating his crossed-arms, pouting stance. "Upset you had to give up the shirt?"

"Hmph. Was I that obvious?"

"To all of us who aren't blond. But Quatre really should return your turtleneck since you returned his t-shirt. It's only fair."

"My turtleneck?"

"The last one you had from the war."

Trowa frowned, trying to remember how each of his beloved sweaters had met their demise. "I thought I lost it on a visit to the circus."

"Lost it, had it stolen…" Heero shrugged, smirking at his friend. "Duo says there's not much of a difference if the previous owner never notices." He pushed off the wall, walking forward to rejoin the group at the pool. Glancing over his shoulder with smug cobalt eyes, he informed the shocked ex-mercenary, "It's under his pillow if you want it."

Snapping shut his gaping mouth, Trowa shook his head. "Nah, I'll let him keep it." But he was stealing another one of Quatre's damned shirts.


End file.
